The Drowning Deep
by asthesunhasrisen
Summary: Emma Potter has a few goals for her sixth year - make decent marks, keep her twin brother alive, figure out what happened to Daphne Greengrass, and avoid developing a crush on Draco Malfoy. But as the year goes on each goal becomes less and less attainable. Extremely AU slow burn Draco/OC.
1. We'll Always Have Knockturn

**A/N:** Hi, everyone! As mentioned in the summary, this is super, _super_ AU. As in Triwizard Tournament in sixth year, Voldemort forever dead, Lily alive, Harry's twin sister existing, etc., etc. This is mostly for fun but also for writing practice, so please feel free to share any constructive criticism with me! :) Ah, and I'm 99% sure I obtained this title from the NaNoWriMo adoption boards at some point.

Thanks so much for clicking, and I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

 _Chapter One_

 _We'll Always Have Knockturn_

* * *

The August afternoon was warm and wet. Mist swirled around the hood of Emma Potter's candy floss-colored raincoat, and she reached up to make sure her long black hair was properly tucked away. Not that it mattered who saw her today—there were no vendors crowding the alley, clamoring for shoppers' attention, and the only shoppers were walking quickly with their heads down, their rain boots slapping the cobblestone and splashing through puddles.

Other than the speed-walking shoppers, Emma's best friend, Charlotte Guidry, was present. She was walking alongside Emma, a mildly displeased expression on her face. She had a pretty, natural pout that made her look somewhat sultry at all times and dark blonde hair, and she was currently tan, because her wealthy pureblood family summered on the Riviera. "When can we ditch?" Charlotte asked Emma in a low voice as she continued looking ahead, calculating.

Charlotte had never been a fan of the three others that had joined them in Diagon Alley that day: Emma's twin brother and his two best friends. Harry—Emma's brother—was a celebrity. Which, Emma thought as she watched him leap into a puddle in order to splash his best friend, was a little hard to believe if you actually knew him. He'd certainly never seemed like a celebrity to Emma—he was an idiot who stuttered when he talked to cute girls and could start an enmity with literally anyone.

Of course, Emma supposed, she didn't know much about it. Harry was famous because, at the tender age of one, he had somehow managed to kill a Dark Lord. From then on he had grown into a flawless Quidditch player and a skilled duelist. It was actually kind of lucky that it was raining today: if other shoppers had been around, people of all ages would have been approaching Harry, asking him for an autograph or photo.

The friend he had just splashed was Ron Weasley, who was a pale, gangly, freckly redhead with no manners to speak of. Emma had never much liked Ron or any of his family members, which was unfortunate, because Harry and Emma's single mother Lily loved them. While Charlotte spent summers in France, Emma spent summers being dragged to the Weasleys' house, where she would usually sit in the back of various functions and read a book.

She did like one of the Weasley family members—Percy. This was because, while the rest of his family was loud and boisterous and usually yelling, he instead tended to ramble about random bureaucratic policies in the Ministry of Magic, where he worked. Emma preferred this to the shouting, because at least he used a level tone.

Harry's other best friend was much more tolerable. Hermione Granger was trailing after Harry and Ron now, the picture of good-natured patience and exasperation. She was tall herself and had deep brown skin and bushy black curls, and she was far classier than either of the two boys. Emma and Hermione were both bookworms and had exchanged diatribes on various books they'd both read before.

The final difference between the twins and their friends were their Houses at Hogwarts. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all in Gryffindor, which was the brave, honorable, impulsive House that won everything. Emma and Charlotte were in Ravenclaw—the competitive, smart, independent House that wished they won everything. At school, the twins and their groups of friends rarely crossed paths, unless it was intentional. The intention was usually from Harry's side; since he was two minutes older than Emma he seemed to think he had to protect her at every turn.

It made complete sense that Charlotte would want to ditch the three Gryffindors, and Emma decided she agreed. "Let's go now," Emma told Charlotte.

"Merlin, finally," muttered Charlotte.

Just as she said this, however, Ron said from a few feet ahead, "Look out!"

Emma registered the warning too late—while Charlotte dodged out of the way, muddy rainwater splattered across Emma's raincoat. She halted and surveyed the damage for a second, watching mud dribble down in rivulets. "Thanks," she said dryly.

"Honestly, Ron," said Hermione with disapproval. She shot Emma an apologetic look. "I'd say he was usually better behaved, but…"

"Hey!" protested Ron, who had run off ahead somewhere to rejoin Harry. "I heard that!"

Emma laughed despite herself and Hermione flashed her a smile before turning around and walking after Harry and Ron. Charlotte gave Emma a baleful look; Emma cleared her throat. "Harry!" she called, squinting ahead to where the two boys were leaping around, attempting to smack the wooden signs hanging outside various shops. They seemed to be trying to splash each other with rainwater the way Emma had been splattered a few seconds earlier. "Charlotte and I are going to the bookstore!"

Instantly Harry halted and turned back. Ron hit the wooden sign directly above him and water splattered all over the top of his raincoat, but Harry didn't even seem to notice. "Be careful!" he shouted. "When do you want to meet up?"

Emma turned around and searched through the misty, rainy air, until she located the massive clock face on the side of Gringotts, the national wizarding bank. "How does three sound to you?"

"Three's great!" Harry replied, waving merrily. Then he turned and took off after Ron.

Hermione, on the other hand, looked back toward Emma and Charlotte. "We'll meet you outside Gringotts," she said. Before either of the Ravenclaws could respond Hermione had turned to speed-walk after Ron and Harry.

The second she was out of earshot Charlotte released a whooshing breath. "Flourish and Blotts it is," she said, turning on her heel. Emma lengthened her own strides to catch up with Charlotte, and in a few seconds both of them were entering Flourish and Blotts, which was the nearest and largest bookstore in Diagon Alley.

It was warm and dry inside. Emma paused just in the door to stamp her wet, squelchy trainers against the doormat, and as she did so she pushed her hood back and shook her hair out while Charlotte did the same. Emma half-glanced over her shoulder toward the nearest wide window, over a few haphazard stacks of books settled on the sill. "How long are we going to hang around here? Until the rain slows down?"

"Sure," said Charlotte with a shrug. She was already on her tiptoes, craning her neck to look around the massive, book-filled store. "We can go to Knockturn later. Other than textbooks I do really need to find a new book to read."

With this said she turned on her heel and began to walk up one of the main aisles, stepping over stacks of books as she went. Emma strolled after her. "I already told you, you've got to read _Murder at Hog's Head_. It's really well-written, it's suspenseful, there's a twist at the end—"

"Yeah, no thanks," Charlotte replied, lifting one hand as if to wave the idea away. "I'm not into reading about murder. Especially not murder that happens at a real place that's ten minutes away from where we sleep."

Emma shrugged, even though Charlotte had abruptly turned and entered an aisle and wasn't paying attention anymore. Emma had always loved a good murder mystery. And it was cool that it was set somewhere that she knew—it was almost like knowing a celebrity.

The thought was a bit silly, given that Emma had grown up with one. Plus, outside Harry's defeat of a terrible Dark Lord at the age of one, their mother Lily had gotten a book published about a year and a half ago. _Candy Apple_ had done startlingly well in the wizarding community, which meant Emma kind of lived with two celebrities. But neither her mother nor her brother seemed particularly famous to Emma—they just seemed normal. Maybe a little Quidditch-obsessed, but normal.

Emma and Charlotte wandered through Flourish and Blotts for a good amount of time. There were plenty of books to consider buying: they were not only jam-packed into the shelves and stacked on the floor, but also stacked atop the bookshelves, in the windows, and all along a skinny staircase that led to the mezzanines.

It took Emma a while to find the mystery fiction section, but it was rewarding when she did. She selected a few books with interesting titles and perched on the edge of a stack of books to briefly page through them. She decided to buy the two mystery books that involved politics—they seemed complex, and from the first few pages of both they each seemed well-written.

Emma returned the other books to their respective places and then picked her way back out of the aisle. She had yet to try and find the specially-marked Hogwarts textbook section—Flourish and Blotts was constantly such a wreck that it changed location every year. And Emma had yet to see any fellow Hogwarts students wandering around from any particular section, which was unhelpful.

When Emma turned a corner of a bookshelf she slammed right into someone. "Oh, sorry," Emma quickly said: then she turned and saw who it was, and her breath caught in her throat.

For she had bumped into Pansy Parkinson. "Well," said Pansy, folding her arms. "What are you doing here, Potter?" She made a show of looking around. "Especially without anyone to protect you?"

Pansy Parkinson made Hungarian Horntails look friendly. Her attitude was both downright depressing and absolutely infuriating—because for the past five years at Hogwarts she and Emma had been close friends, until the Daphne Thing at the end of last year. Pansy had only distanced herself then, and the lines had been drawn this summer at one of Teddy Nott's house parties, when Pansy had gotten into such an argument with Charlotte that Charlotte had burst into tears.

It was even worse because Pansy could get away with anything. She was good at smooth-talking anyone, and she was classically gorgeous, with olive skin, high cheekbones, and a perfect nose. She could even make the Hogwarts uniform, which consisted of pleated kilts and stiff button-up shirts, look good, which was a feat in itself. "Just looking for textbooks," said Emma bracingly. "D'you know where they are?"

Before Pansy could offer some snarky response, Tracey Davis appeared. Emma had never been friends with Tracey, but Pansy always had. Emma wasn't even sure how—Tracey was always angry and cool with literally everyone. "Oh, hi," said Tracey, halting beside Pansy. She gave Emma a quick once-over and then faced Pansy. "I found the book. Can we get out of here?"

"I'd love to," said Pansy, shooting Emma a nasty look. "If you'll excuse us, Emma." She passed Emma, slamming into her shoulder as she went, and disappeared back up the aisle Emma stood on. Tracey went with her and didn't even spare Emma another glance.

Emma looked after both of them for a few seconds. She really had no idea what she'd done to either of the two Slytherins, but whatever, she decided. It was their problem.

She found Charlotte perusing the Hogwarts textbooks, already holding at least four books in her arms. "Look at this," said Charlotte upon glancing up and sighting Emma. She hefted up one of the textbooks with her free hand to wave it in the air as best she could. "We're going to have to read this shite."

"That is typically what one does with textbooks," Emma replied. She joined Charlotte in order to find the books she needed, but then paused halfway through her search. "Should I buy Harry's books?"

Charlotte snorted. "I don't have much faith in your brother's smarts," she remarked, "but I think he can figure that much out."

Emma rolled her eyes and resumed looking through the textbooks. After another few minutes passed, Charlotte said, "Alright. You ready to go?"

"Never readier," said Emma, adjusting her grip on the various textbooks she now had stacked in her arms. Judging from the weight of them—and what they'd been hearing for years in the Ravenclaw common room—sixth year was going to be terribly difficult.

Charlotte and Emma checked out with their textbooks and walked back outside, where they paused beneath the awning to shove their books into Emma's expanded-on-the-inside tote bag. With this task completed the two of them resumed wandering down Diagon Alley.

They stopped in Madam Malkin's, as Charlotte wanted a couple of new button-up uniform shirts, before heading on to their original destination of Knockturn Alley. "Oh, and I saw Pansy at the bookstore," Emma said, as the two of them drew ever nearer to the turnoff. "She's got Tracey Davis with her."

"Ugh," groaned Charlotte. She halted, and Emma stopped to glance back at her, eyebrows raised. "She's totally going to be there. Maybe we shouldn't go."

"No, come on," said Emma. She half-glanced back over Charlotte's shoulder, toward the clock on the side of Gringotts. "We'll just avoid her. We only have an hour left anyway."

Charlotte frowned. She detested Pansy, even though she and Pansy had been quite close up until the Daphne Thing last year. Emma could see she was wavering, though, and she added in the hopes of convincing her, "We can't get that everlasting nail polish anywhere else."

Now Charlotte brightened. "Okay, we'll go to Angelie's," she said, and resumed walking. "But that's it this time."

She said something along these lines every time they went to Knockturn Alley. On most occasions, however, the two of them wound up browsing several more stores than intended. Emma had heard various rumors about how awful and creepy Knockturn Alley was, but most of the Ravenclaws she knew went there for Potions ingredients or specific books that were banned elsewhere. Slytherins had no problem wandering around Knockturn Alley either.

There had been one incident in which Harry had gotten lost and found himself in Knockturn Alley, and Emma had had to rescue him, but that was just Harry. He had a bad habit of trying to start a fight with anyone he thought might be pro-Voldemort, the Dark Lord he'd defeated at one, and his personal pride was not exactly something to be admired. Typically, Emma knew, if you walked like you knew what you were doing, for the most part the Knockturn Alley regulars would leave you alone.

Besides—there were stores like Angelie's that wouldn't show up in Diagon Alley, because some of their products were technically illegal due to their ingredients. The Ministry could never catch them, though, and couldn't prove that the products had ever been sold there. The products were so useful, like everlasting nail polish and shampoo that gave the user perfect beachy curls, that no customers ever gave Angelie's up to the Ministry. Any similar stores that had been given up to the Ministry generally managed to evade serious convictions and set themselves back up under different names a few months later.

Emma and Charlotte made their first stop at Angelie's. Next the two of them checked out a smoky bookstore, where Emma bought an interesting book about carnivorous flowers and cultivating them. After browsing a few clothing shops Emma tried to bring Charlotte across a dark, narrow alleyway in order to see an apothecary. "No thanks," said Charlotte, making a face. She'd always been scared to death of bugs and snakes, both of which were usually used in potions. "I'll be in Borgin and Burkes."

The two girls parted ways. Emma headed into the store alone—it was rather small and square and stuffed with overflowing shelves. She had no idea where to look first and wandered down the first aisle she saw.

The owner was back behind the counter, shifting boxes around, and didn't notice Emma for a few minutes. She had already skimmed a few labels on tiny glass vials when he glanced up and caught sight of her. "Ah, afternoon," he said, as Emma set down essence of horseradish. "You alright?"

Emma flashed a polite smile at him. He was an older gentleman, with a shock of gray hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. "Yeah, not bad, thanks," she said, nodding at him. "You?"

"Not bad," the owner echoed back. "See anything you like?"

Emma glanced back at the shelf and considered for a split second. Then she turned and strolled over to the counter. "I'm actually looking for octopus powder," she said. "I'm almost out." Octopus powder was used to strengthen potions; and, as potions were the only type of magic students were allowed to perform outside of Hogwarts while underage, Emma had long practiced brewing potions over her summer holidays.

The apothecary nodded. "I'm sure it's on one of those two aisles over there," he said, pointing.

Emma thanked him and walked over to examine the aisles he had gestured to. Unfortunately there was a row of dead spiders, bottled and preserved, along the top of one of the shelves, and Emma did her utmost to ignore them—spiders were the one thing she could not stand. She had just located the octopus powder and was plucking up a glass jar of it to check the price tag on the bottom when she heard someone else enter the shop. "I'll only be a moment!" Emma heard a vaguely familiar boy voice call.

Then she heard the door swing shut, followed by footsteps. Emma tried to place the voice for a second and then refocused on deciding what size jar to buy. She didn't know what would be coming in her upper-level Potions class this year, but she figured it would probably be best to go in prepared. _The bigger jar it is_.

Emma straightened up and wandered around the corner of the shelf. On the last shelf, almost pushed entirely back against the wooden wall—Emma had to remain sideways in order to walk alongside it—she found aconite and bloodroot. The aconite she snatched up and decided to buy instantly. She considered the bloodroot for a few seconds.

During this time she heard whoever had walked in and the apothecary talking. It sounded as if the two of them knew each other. Emma waited for the customer to walk away from the counter, so she could ask the owner a question about Bloodroot Poison, but the two of them just kept chatting away.

Emma was starting to get a little irritated, and she walked back along the front aisle of the store, near the large window that showed the rainy street. She glanced outside and caught sight of another Slytherin she knew—Blaise Zabini. He was leaning against a stone wall across the alley and standing beneath an awning, one leg casually crossed over the other, reading something.

This sighting made it click: the customer chatting with the apothecary had to be Draco Malfoy. Blaise and Draco were best friends and seemed to be complete opposites—whereas Blaise was the true, classic image of a Slytherin, cool and collected at all times and capable of brief but frosty and lethal insults, Draco never had it together. He was outright aggressive toward Harry in particular, as well as most other Gryffindors, but he mostly ignored everyone else.

Still, everyone knew when Draco and Harry were fighting. It was always raucous and attention-getting. The two of them would shout insults at each other and wound up dueling on most occasions. They'd hated each other since first year for no reason Emma, or probably Harry or Draco for that matter, could remember.

As Emma saw it, Draco's worst flaw was probably his arrogance—he was full of himself to say the least. But, to be fair, he did have some reason to be: he was a good-looking guy, his parents were ultra-wealthy, he was smart, and he played Quidditch well. He just acted over the top about it.

Emma decided to avoid him. This was her usual go-to when she spotted other Hogwarts students in public. She speed-walked around a corner of another shelf right as Draco turned to walk away from the apothecary's counter. Hopefully he hadn't caught a glimpse of her.

Even though it was Knockturn Alley and Draco was a Slytherin, Emma was still a little surprised to see him here, in a random apothecary's shop. And how did he know the owner so well? It was odd. Then again, Emma thought as she approached the counter herself, she didn't know what Draco did when he wasn't fighting with Harry.

Well, she thought, she knew one thing—he was dating Pansy. They'd started going out last year. Pansy had just never brought him over to hang out with them. All in all Emma had had maybe one conversation with him in her life, and that was probably from some Slytherin party she'd gone to over some summer.

The apothecary had returned to stacking boxes by the time Emma reached him. When she did, she cleared her throat. "Ah, yes?" he said, straightening up and turning around. "Are you finished?"

"Well, almost," said Emma. She adjusted her grip on the jars she'd collected. "I just have a couple of questions. I saw you have bloodroot—"

Immediately the apothecary looked almost canny. "You don't have a problem with it."

"No, I'm trying to decide whether or not to buy it," said Emma. The apothecary visibly relaxed. Emma understood why: bloodroot had been banned by the Ministry years ago. It was relatively toxic. "I know bloodroot is the mainstay of Bloodroot Poison. How much bloodroot is used in that?"

The apothecary tilted his head, seeming to think. "Well," he said, "I don't know the exact amount, but I'm sure you'd need a large amount. Depends on how much poison you're making."

It was another testament to the fact that they were currently in Knockturn Alley that the apothecary didn't bother asking why Emma wanted to know about poison. Emma nodded at him. "Fair enough," she said. "And the antidote—does it involve any bloodroot? I'd assume you would need at least the essence."

"You'd be right," the apothecary said. "I've got essence, too, but it's in the back." He gave Emma a once-over. "You think you're gonna buy it?"

Quickly Emma nodded. The apothecary grinned at her, excused himself, and headed into the back room, which had to be located beyond the door that was behind the counter. He pulled the door shut with a click behind him.

Emma waited there for a couple minutes, carefully setting out the bottles of various items she wanted to buy. Then she took a quick look around the store. She had no idea where Draco Malfoy had gone—the shelves were too high to see over them—and she could only pray she didn't bump into him.

She left her items at the counter and hurried to the back of the store, where she rounded the corner and headed over to find a large jar of bloodroot. She selected it and grabbed a jar of molted snakeskin on her way back to the counter. Just as she reached the counter, Draco appeared, wandering around the corner of one shelf, looking at the end cap.

It was too late now. Draco spotted her out of the corner of his eye as Emma set down the jar of bloodroot and the molted snakeskin on the counter. Draco turned to look directly at her. "Oh," he said, face registering surprise. Then he looked reluctant. "Hi."

"Hey," said Emma bracingly, lifting one hand to wave at him a little. Draco smiled politely at her, though he did look a little fidgety—like he thought she might suddenly fly at him in a rage. Emma wondered vaguely if he'd heard something about her from Pansy, or if it was just the fact that she looked similar to Harry.

After all, she and Harry were nearly identical—they both had brown, olive-toned skin and chronically messy black hair. But Harry had Lily's bright green eyes, whereas Emma had her father's hazel ones. Emma had also managed to get a light splash of freckles on her face from her mother. Harry just had the lightning-shaped scar Voldemort had given him back when he was one.

Emma was sure it didn't help that she'd never had a real conversation with Draco. She decided impulsively to prove that she was not Harry. "You alright?" she asked Draco.

"Yeah, thanks," said Draco. His eyes flicked over her. "You?"

"Yep," said Emma.

The two of them studied each other for a second. Draco really was quite pretty, Emma thought, tall and pale with slightly tousled white-blond hair and a really well-formed face. He was like a walking work of art, honestly. Emma could have stared at him for hours.

But that would not have been remotely socially acceptable. "How's your summer been?" Emma asked him.

"Oh—fine, I guess," said Draco. He reached up to brush his hand through his hair, and then kind of moved to fix it. "Didn't really do much. What about you?"

"Same," Emma replied. "Just practiced potions. The usual."

"You're really into Potions, huh?" said Draco. Emma nodded, and Draco glanced over at the items she'd gathered together on the counter. He took a small step over to take a better look at them. "This looks lethal," he observed. He looked back at Emma. "You planning to do someone in?"

He was smirking very faintly as he said this, which made Emma wonder—was he flirting with her? No way, she thought. He was just being sarcastic. Maybe he had a dry sense of humor. There was no way for her to know. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you too," Emma deadpanned.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "What, I can't just become an accomplice?"

"I can't trust you with this information," Emma replied. She nodded toward Draco. "For all I know you could turn me in later just to get back at my brother."

At the mention of Harry, Draco scoffed. "Oh, please, I would never." Emma just gave him a look, and Draco straightened up, putting one hand to his chest, as if he was mortally offended. "What kind of person do you think I am? Your brother's the one that starts every fight we have!"

"I'm sure he does," Emma agreed. "But you're the one that talks shit first."

Draco seemed to consider. Then he nodded. "Yeah, that's true." He shrugged. "But what can I say? Slytherins versus Gryffindors, or whatever." He pointed at Emma. "You're lucky Ravenclaws don't have to fight Hufflepuffs. They can be surprisingly mean, you know."

Emma laughed. "Somehow I don't believe you. And anyway Ravenclaws are mean enough to each other, we don't need another House to battle."

Before the conversation could continue the apothecary reemerged from the back room, a big jar of bloodroot essence in hand. "And here we are," he said as he appeared. He set the jar down on the counter and glanced up to smile at Emma. "Any more questions?" Then he half-glanced toward Draco. "Ah—can I help you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Not at the moment, thanks," said Draco. He kind of nodded at Emma, who half-smiled politely in response, and then turned to wander down one of the various aisles. When he was gone Emma faced the apothecary.

The apothecary was picking up the little jars Emma had procured and checking their price tags. "Interesting family, the Malfoys," he said conversationally, albeit in a low voice. "Draco's the best of the lot. How do you know them?"

"I don't," said Emma.

"Just as well," replied the apothecary, who was hardly bothered. "Are you sure this is all you're buying?"

Emma purchased her chosen ingredients and put them away, first into a smooth wooden box and then down into her tote bag. At last she said goodbye to the apothecary and made her way out of the shop. At the door she glanced back. That conversation with Draco had been weird, Emma thought as she emerged into the rainy alley. At least it had definitely been a one-off, considering she couldn't begin to imagine another scenario in which she and Draco Malfoy had a normal conversation.

Charlotte was waiting across the alley outside Borgin and Burkes a few hundred yards away from Blaise, who was still reading. Emma waved as she walked over to join her. "Hey," Emma said. "We still on time?"

"Yeah, but we've got to get back," Charlotte replied. She turned and began to walk in the direction of Diagon Alley, and Emma matched her pace. "Did you see Blaise Zabini?" Without waiting for an answer Charlotte continued, "All the Slytherins are out and about today."

Emma nodded. "Yeah. I actually—"

"Oh! I almost forgot!" exclaimed Charlotte. She whirled toward Emma, grabbing her arm. "You'll never believe what I found in Borgin and Burkes! Look!" She moved to dig into her own tote bag and withdrew a crystallized skull paperweight. Emma decided, as Charlotte rambled about the paperweight and a few other morbid pieces of decor she'd bought, there was no point in interrupting her to tell her about Draco.

Charlotte and Emma met back up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione right on time, and the group left Diagon Alley together. Soon Emma had given Charlotte her textbooks back and it was just Harry and Emma, taking the Floo Network back to their manor house in Godric's Hollow.

The entire trip had been fairly average in total, outside the lack of witches and wizards positively queuing up to ask for Harry's messy autograph. Emma and Harry headed to their respective rooms upon reaching their house. "Mum said she'd be back late tonight!" Harry called as Emma trotted upstairs.

"Okay!" Emma shouted back. She reached her bedroom door and let herself in. Once there she dropped her tote bag onto her neatly-made bed: then, on second thought, she turned on her heel and walked right back out into the hallway. She'd been planning on putting it off until tomorrow, which was the day before they would have to catch the train back to school, but she'd need tomorrow to pack.

Besides—it would be better to go to the cemetery down the street now, rather than later, when Lily was around. As it was Emma had to half-sneak out the front door into the drizzly afternoon air.

Emma had a habit of wandering down the street to the cemetery, particularly when Lily and Harry were not around. She knew both of them would understand, Harry on a level no one else she knew could, but she didn't want either of them to keep her company. Lily always insisted they walk into town first to buy flowers from the grocer's while Harry was always sullen and silent, keeping his eyes on his trainers. And Emma would have been too self-conscious to speak with Lily or Harry standing there.

The cemetery was only a ten-minute walk from the house, and there was rain-slicked pavement that meandered along the road. Emma kept her hands in the pockets of her raincoat as she squinted ahead. She was fairly certain she could see Mrs. Takaya, one of their various Muggle neighbors, walking her beagle, just passing beneath the chestnut tree.

Fortunately Emma would not have to make conversation with the woman; she was horribly gossipy. She reached the turn for the cemetery within a few minutes—she was still far away enough to avoid waving without looking rude—and turned on her heel to walk along the skinny stone path. In moments she passed over the threshold, beneath the ivy-covered brick archway, and pushed open the creaky wrought-iron gate.

The cemetery was crowded with crumbling headstones. Emma closed the gate behind her and turned to take the shortest route to her father's grave. She did her best not to step on any other graves in an attempt to respect the dead, and after walking through patches of squishy wet grass Emma reached the tombstone she'd come for. When she did, she halted at the end of the grave and released a breath.

On the headstone very careful, particular letters were engraved— _James Potter, Beloved Husband and Father_. Emma studied the stone for a moment. Then, after she glanced self-consciously over her shoulder to make sure nobody was within hearing range or anywhere near her, she turned back and said, "Well, we're leaving for school the day after tomorrow. We went to Diagon Alley not long ago to buy textbooks. At least it wasn't just me and Harry and his friends, Charlotte was there, too…"

Emma shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she continued to ramble, her voice low and even. She'd started coming out here to vent to her father's silent grave a few years ago, back when she'd come to the abrupt realization that Lily probably didn't care about her friend drama. Harry's drama was more important anyway—it had to do with potential Death Eaters and the war and Voldemort and Quidditch, all of which Lily was invested in. Emma was more concerned with Potions and rumors and the outdoors.

At least she knew there was no possible way she was annoying her father by talking at him. After all, he was dead, and he had been for literally as long as Emma could remember.

Back when she and Harry had been one, Voldemort had broken into their house and attempted to kill them. James had been the only one home, and he'd gone down valiantly, protecting Emma and Harry from Voldemort. Then Voldemort had turned and attempted to kill Harry—and with some mysterious unknown force Harry had bounced the killing spell right back at Voldemort. Just like that a Dark Lord was dead, a war was over, and Harry was a hero.

Whereas Harry was famous for that and Lily was famous for both her war efforts and her book, Emma was famous for being related to them. She had done nothing of note as a one-year-old or even since then, really. Her own life was utterly uninteresting; she knew it, and preferred not to bother anyone else with her problems.

But despite Harry's fame and glory, Emma didn't hold it against him. He was pretty down-to-earth for someone who had been famous since he was one, after all. And he was her twin brother—she couldn't hate him. He was a bit of an idiot but he was her idiot.

"So I'm not mad at him or anything," Emma said presently to her father's silent grave. "He's already had professional Quidditch scouts asking about him and he's met an Auror from the Ministry of Magic, and he hasn't even really done anything. He's a true talent. Sorry you missed out." Emma sighed and glanced around, at the tall brick walls surrounding the cemetery, and then up at the cloudy gray sky overhead. "But it's not his fault."

She redirected her attention to the tombstone. "I'll come back over Winter Break," Emma promised. "I'll let you know how awful first term is. And if I made it into the Slug Club, or if Harry's won anything else." She edged around the grave to reach out and brush a wayward white dogwood petal from the top of it. "See you then."

Emma glanced over the tombstone for another second. Then she turned and followed the path she had taken to get there, heading back out of the cemetery. She reached the exit within moments. Just as she pulled the gate shut behind her, rain resumed spiraling down from the sky; and it only strengthened as Emma marched back toward the manor house. In the distance she could see the long street winding away, cutting into the green countryside, and she could make out the town down near one of the patches of oak trees, the church spire tall above the other buildings.

It was true—she already knew her first term back at Hogwarts this year was going to be awful. After the Daphne Thing last year, there was no doubt in her mind that it would be. _Ah, well,_ thought Emma, drawing in a deep breath of the cool, fresh countryside air. It'd be over sooner rather than later.


	2. The Battle of Hogwarts Express

**A/N:** Hey, y'all! Thanks so much for following, favoriting, and reviewing! :) This chapter's a couple thousand words shorter than the first, but hopefully you enjoy it anyway. Again, any constructive criticism is more than welcome—I particularly would like to know about any glaring Americanisms—and thank you for clicking!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

 _Chapter Two_

 _The Battle of Hogwarts Express_

* * *

The morning that Harry and Emma were meant to leave for Hogwarts was rushed and chaotic, despite the careful planning Emma had put into her packing the day before. "Mum!" she shouted from where she was presently laying on her bedroom floor. "Have you seen my mascara?" She reached out to pat around under the dresser a few more times while she waited for a response.

Lily appeared in the doorway. Emma glanced up at her and grimaced. She'd been looking for her color-changing nail polish earlier—it was no wonder she'd been unable to find it. Her mother seemed to have found it first. "Emma Lily," she said with authority and accusation, "what were you doing with _illegal_ nail polish?"

Emma stared at her. "Holding it for a friend?"

Lily's expression darkened, her eyebrows going together. This was not a good sign. In fact, none of it was: Lily's dark red hair was still loose and curly around her shoulders, which meant she hadn't had the time to put it up like she normally did, and there were little lines around her tightened mouth. She was freckly and always pale, and this seemed to highlight the shadows under her eyes. "I have told you _multiple_ times," Lily boomed. "Do not go into Knockturn Alley! You already know what they'll do to a Potter—you were there when Harry was almost mugged!"

 _Yes, and I stopped them,_ Emma wanted to say. But she was more interested in continuing her life and applying her mascara than infuriating her mother by arguing nuances, so she flashed a sheepish and hopefully charming grin at her. "I'm sorry, Mum," said Emma, sitting up but remaining on the floor. "I won't do it again. Promise."

"You'd better not," Lily warned sharply. "And no, I haven't seen your mascara." She started to turn back out of the doorway, then paused. "But you should check under your nightstand," she added somewhat reluctantly, pointing in that direction.

Before Emma could protest—she'd already checked under every piece of furniture in the room twice—Lily had vanished back into the hall. Emma heaved a sigh as she looked around her spotless room. Her trunk was completely packed, except for the items she'd planned to use that morning.

She struggled to her feet and shot the door an annoyed look as she headed over to her caramel-colored trunk. Emma flipped open the top and began to rummage around in it, searching for her volume-enhancing mascara. She'd really wanted to use that nail polish. And honestly, what was wrong with the ingredients? Why was the Persian club beetle illegal? As far as Emma knew they weren't endangered.

Within a few more moments Emma gave up. She snapped the lid of her trunk shut and locked it. Then, for a long moment, she stared down at it, as the thought of returning to Hogwarts truly sank in.

Abruptly she bent over to begin dragging the trunk toward the open door. "Hey, Harry!" Emma shouted as she did so. "Help a sister out?"

"Hang on!" Harry yelled back from down the hallway and probably down the stairs. His voice was rather faint, though everyone in the household knew he was quite capable of bellowing his lungs out. A second later, when Emma had gone back to her desk chair to snatch up her tote bag and sling it over her shoulder, she heard footsteps approaching. "What is it?" Harry asked, appearing in the doorway.

Emma turned and smiled sweetly at him. "Want to carry my trunk downstairs for me?"

Harry, like Lily, looked a bit messy, but that wasn't unusual for him. His black hair had always refused to lie flat. He offered Emma an unamused look. "Get Mum to use magic." He started to step back.

"I can't!" Emma said quickly. Harry glanced at her as though she was mad, and she explained, "I went to Knockturn Alley to buy nail polish, and she found it, and she's not happy with me right now. So please?" She clasped her hands together and widened her eyes at him, going for the sad bunny look.

It always worked on him. "Oh, fine," said Harry with a dramatic sigh. He moved to take hold of Emma's trunk. "I'll carry your trunk. But you really have to stop going there." He hefted the trunk up and then navigated, weaving around a little, back out into the hall. Emma glanced around her room one last time—and doubled back to grab her old paperback copy of _To the Lighthouse_ by Virginia Woolf from her desk—before walking after her brother. She flicked off the lights and pulled her bedroom door shut behind her.

"Wait," said Harry, suddenly stopping halfway down the hall. "You didn't go the other day, did you?"

"Of course not," Emma said at once as she dropped her book into her tote bag. "I told you, Charlotte and I went bookstore-hopping."

Harry shot her a suspicious look over his shoulder; but her trunk, it seemed, was too heavy to continue carrying this tired argument in the middle of the first floor hallway. Emma was sure he'd pick it up later, but at least he let it go for now. Not that this, she was sure, was an easy task to accomplish. Harry was ridiculously stubborn.

It took a while longer before all three of the Potters were gathered downstairs in the living room, standing on the patterned rug in front of the fireplace together. Lily had prepared a Portkey—they would arrive a few platforms away from 9¾, out of the way of Muggles' eyesight or hearing ranges. "Thank you, Harry," said Lily, ruffling Harry's messy hair. Then she focused her attention on Emma. "Did you ever find your mascara?" she asked in a distinctly frostier tone.

"No," said Emma.

"I didn't think I'd have to give you this lecture this year," Lily added, turning more toward Emma and placing her hand on her hip, "but you have to stay away from sketchy places in Hogsmeade." Emma opened her mouth to protest, because most Ravenclaws liked to hang out at the Cat's Corner, a sketchy place in Hogsmeade. "I don't care if Charlotte or Lucy go with you."

"Mum—"

"I'll keep an eye on her," Harry promised.

Emma rolled her eyes to herself as Lily gave Harry a grateful look. The two of them constantly double-teamed her. Emma missed her father on these various occasions: he might have been on her side at least some of the time.

A few moments later the three of them were swirling off to King's Cross, the London train station Harry and Emma would be setting out from. All three of them landed on their feet, though Emma stumbled and had to grab Harry's shoulder to keep her balance—she hated Portkeys; they made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

Lily walked Harry and Emma all the way through the secret entrance to the train platform, and the three of them stopped a few yards in. The platform was crowded with noisy students, shouting greetings to each other and goodbyes to their families. Various trolleys were being pushed along and some students were carting trunks themselves.

The scarlet Hogwarts Express train was already blowing steam. Emma glanced up at it, and then around at the rest of the platform, a combination of anticipation and dread welling in her stomach. She could only hope she found Lucy Fernandez, she and Charlotte's other best friend, sooner rather than later.

Emma and Harry faced Lily at the same time. "You two be good this year," said Lily, giving Harry a quick hug and rumpling his hair again. She turned and gave Emma a hug, too, but didn't touch her hair. "And Harry," Lily added as she stepped back, "look out for your sister."

"Don't worry, Mum," said Emma sarcastically. "I'll look out for Harry too."

"Good," said Lily, who had to be actively ignoring the sarcasm. She smiled at both of them and then waved them onward. "Go on then, get on the train before it leaves you!"

The three of them said their goodbyes, and Harry hugged Lily again before the twins walked away. Almost immediately Harry was nearly accosted by an elderly couple that looked delighted upon spotting him, but Emma blocked their path and pretended to look past them, as if she didn't realize. "Thanks for that," Harry told Emma a moment later, as he helped her drag her trunk onboard.

"No problem," said Emma bracingly. "Help me put this up?"

"Sure," said Harry with a shrug. He helped her stow her trunk in the nearest empty compartment. Then he left her behind to find his own friends—most likely Neville Longbottom, as both Ron and Hermione were Prefects, and the Prefects had an early meeting every train ride. This also meant that Emma wouldn't see Charlotte for a while.

It was unfortunate that Neville was only one of Harry's last-resort friends, because Emma liked him. He hung around the greenhouses often, and he knew a lot about some really obscure plants. He was also one of the few people who liked to go outside to the lake on freezing cold winter days just to look at the interesting plant life. He was a bit shy, but after he and Emma had bumped into each other multiple times over the past few years in the greenhouses on weekends, he'd warmed up to her.

Emma dug around in her tote bag to find her political mystery book. She had just set it down on the leather bench beside her when the glass compartment door squeaked open. She glanced up and found Lucy posing in the doorway, arms thrown open wide. "Emma!" she squealed.

"Hey—" Emma started to respond; but she was interrupted by Lucy flinging herself at her in a tackle-hug. After a moment of confusion the two separated themselves, and Emma stood to help Lucy drag her heavy trunk into the compartment, where the two girls just left it on the floor under the window before seating themselves across from each other. "So?" said Emma, as she straightened her book on the bench beside her. "How was Spain?"

"Fabulous!" Lucy declared. She was positively glowing, her naturally tan skin a shade darker than usual, her dark brown hair pulled back in a complicated braid. There were already little wisps falling out around her face, but they only added to the look. "I met this great girl named Raquel. She was gorgeous."

Emma laughed. "When's the wedding?"

"Never," Lucy sighed. She stretched her arms out beside her on the back of the bench. "I had to leave her behind." She leaned her head back and briefly closed her eyes, and Emma tried not to laugh—Lucy was such a drama queen. "But what about you?" Lucy suddenly asked, lifting her head and opening her eyes to refocus on Emma. "What'd you do this summer?"

And then, before Emma could respond, Lucy added, her voice and expression turning more sympathetic, "How are you doing?"

That was exactly the kind of question Emma would have preferred to avoid. "I'm fine," Emma said. She could tell Lucy didn't believe her, but it didn't matter. "And I did literally nothing of interest this summer. Just dodged Weasleys and brooms." She rolled her eyes.

Lucy laughed. "Aw, come on," she said, waving one hand at Emma. "Ginny's nice."

Ginny Weasley was the youngest of the redheaded clan. She'd had a thing for Harry for as long as Emma had known her. "She's only nice because you know me," said Emma, who had personally witnessed a few well-done but undeserved hexes thrown.

"Oh, shut up," said Lucy without feeling. "She's—nice."

"Whatever you say, Lucy."

The two of them discussed the Weasleys, and then Quidditch, and then tutoring and their upcoming classes for the year. Lucy wanted to go into teaching, whereas Emma intended to go into a research-based field, preferably in the Herbology or Potions area. Generally their classes didn't line up except for a couple of core ones.

A few hours passed before Charlotte joined them. The food trolley had already gone by when Charlotte appeared, which meant that when she arrived Emma and Lucy were throwing Chocolate Frogs at each other. "Ow, stop!" Emma laughed as she swatted one away—she then immediately plucked up another one to hurl back at Lucy and missed.

At this moment Charlotte shoved open the compartment door. Both Emma and Lucy glanced up in surprise. Charlotte was frowning, clearly already in a sour mood; she traipsed in, dragging her trunk behind her, and flopped onto the bench beside Emma. "I hate Anthony Goldstein," she announced. "And Pansy Parkinson."

Charlotte and Anthony had dated for roughly a year, before it had come out that he'd cheated on her with Lisa Turpin. The two had broken up, and now Lisa and Anthony were happily dating. Emma and Lucy exchanged a brief glance. "You're not alone there," Emma said mildly. She moved to start scooping up Chocolate Frogs from the floor.

"Aw, Char!" Lucy fairly wailed. She leapt across the compartment in order to bear-hug Charlotte, and Emma barely moved out of the way in time. After a few seconds Charlotte managed to fight Lucy off; then she laid there in despair again, as if this had taken all of her remaining energy. "No, you guys, listen to this," Lucy burst, bouncing up and down on her seat. "I found out the best piece of gossip this summer."

Emma, who had finished with her Chocolate Frog-gathering, climbed back up to sit where she had before. She exchanged a glance with Charlotte now, who was trying to fix her low side-ponytail. "How'd you manage that?" asked Charlotte, not even looking at Lucy. "You were in Spain all summer."

"Not _all_ summer," countered Lucy. She looked like the cat that had gotten the canary. "Well? Guess!"

"I'm depressed," said Charlotte, dropping her hands. "Don't make me guess."

Emma snickered at that, and Lucy glanced hopefully toward her. "Er—I don't know," said Emma. She picked up a Chocolate Frog to begin unwrapping it. "You found out…Snape and McGonagall are secretly dating?"

That made Charlotte cackle and Lucy frown. "Ugh, no," she protested. "Try again."

"Just tell us before I hurt you," said Charlotte.

Lucy good-naturedly sighed. "Okay, fine," she relented. "Pansy and Draco Malfoy broke up!"

"Why'd you add the last name?" wondered Charlotte. "Who else in this universe is named Draco?"

"Wait, really?" Emma said to Lucy. She nodded enthusiastically. "Do you know why?"

Lucy shrugged. "Nope."

This really was interesting information. Of course Emma hadn't expected Draco and Pansy to date forever—they had very little in common, as far as Emma knew, and a long-lasting relationship couldn't exactly be built on the fact that Draco and Pansy were beautiful people in the same House.

Huh. Emma did remember how long Pansy had had a crush on Draco, and she shifted on her bench. That was unfortunate for Pansy. Ah, well, Emma thought. It must have been karma for her poor attitude.

The three girls spent the remainder of the ride chatting about nothing. As the landscape changed from the city and its outskirts to sprawling countryside, and fewer and fewer houses became visible, the sky darkened with rainclouds. It steadily became so dark inside the train that the lanterns had to be switched on, and it began to rain torrentially.

At last an announcement boomed throughout the train, informing students that they were nearing Hogwarts. Emma, Charlotte, and Lucy all changed into their uniforms—and just as the three of them were finishing up, Hermione Granger skidded to a halt in front of the compartment and knocked frantically on the glass door.

"What the hell is she doing here?" grumbled Charlotte, who was failing at tying her tie.

"She wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," said Lucy crisply. "Here, let me help." She moved to tie Charlotte's tie for her.

Emma, whose own tie was already done, walked over to slide open the compartment door and lean casually against the doorframe. "Yes?"

"Oh, come quickly," said Hermione. She looked fretful and a little panicky, and she had her wand out. She was already in her uniform, too, but her gold-and-red Gryffindor tie was off-center. "Harry's in trouble."

"Bloody hell," burst Charlotte.

Emma ignored her and backtracked to snatch her wand up from the compartment bench. "I'll be back in a minute," Emma said to Lucy and Charlotte. Both of them protested as Emma ducked out into the hallway, but Emma shut the compartment door and turned to face Hermione, who was watching her, wide-eyed. "What's he done now?"

"He went to find Malfoy," Hermione said with a grimace. "I know the Slytherins are somewhere down here, and I saw you, so I thought I should get you to help—"

That was usually how it went—Harry started something and Emma had to come and rescue him. He had an unfortunate habit of picking fights when he shouldn't. He was absolutely incapable of remaining levelheaded when someone was insulting people he cared about. Emma was always torn between finding this endearing and finding it annoying.

Emma and Hermione marched down the hallway together. Hermione, who was slightly shorter, had to move a little faster in order to keep up. "Why was he looking for Malfoy?" Emma asked.

Hermione adjusted her tie nervously and then tightened her grip on her wand. At least magic was allowed now—it was once the Hogwarts students, underage or not, set foot on the train. "Malfoy was arguing with Ginny in the corridor," Hermione started.

Emma already didn't care to hear the rest. She focused on moving ahead and glancing into compartments as they passed them. Hermione had been right: there seemed to be quite a few silver-and-green ties around here. Emma had yet, however, to spot Draco Malfoy's white-blond hair.

"Do you know what compartment he's in?" Hermione asked, recapturing Emma's attention.

Emma shook her head. "No. But he can't be far from Pansy Parkinson, even if they are broken up."

"They broke up?" said Hermione, startled. Emma just shrugged at her.

In a few seconds it became clear which compartment Draco Malfoy had been in. There was a crowd of curious students gathering in the skinny corridor outside one of the compartments, and there seemed to be fuchsia smoke billowing out the door—Hermione and Emma glanced at each other and broke into sprints.

Hermione and Emma shoved their way through the thinning crowd to reach the evident disaster area. Vincent Crabbe, a Slytherin, was unconscious on the carpeted floor outside the compartment—and as Hermione and Emma halted to survey the damage, Ron came stumbling backward out of the compartment, arms flailing, tripped over Crabbe's legs, and thumped to the ground hard.

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked.

Emma was unbothered by this appearance—it just meant Harry was still in the compartment somewhere. She lifted her wand, stepped over Crabbe, and walked straight into the compartment. "Harry James Potter!" Emma yelled, futilely trying to wave the opaque pink smoke away with her free hand. "If you don't get out of here right this second—"

"Wait, Emma?" Harry's voice came from somewhere to Emma's left. "Get out of here!"

It was absolutely impossible to see anything in here. Emma could make out vague, shadowy shapes, but the smoke was growing thicker and thicker with every passing second, and soon it was going to be difficult to breathe—Emma reached out in the direction of Harry's voice and found herself grabbing someone's shoulder.

She couldn't see who it was, she could only feel a starchy uniform shirt; Emma started to pat up and down the person's torso, and she hoped he _was_ Harry, given that this was a little personal, and he was trying to swat her hand away—but he was a bit tall and a bit too muscular to be Harry—

"Who _is_ that?" demanded Draco Malfoy, right as Emma fairly smacked him in the face.

 _Yikes_ —"Goyle," Emma deadpanned, in her deepest attempt at a male voice. Then she whirled around and launched herself across the compartment, because the smoke seemed to be making things sound backwards.

It took a very confusing moment, but Emma grabbed a handful of what she thought was Harry's shirt and yanked him toward the compartment door. It turned out to be the window instead and both of them walked right into it. With a throbbing nose Emma turned around and tried to walk toward the window—and this time the two of them successfully made it to the door.

Hermione was helping Ron sit up in the hallway. "Emma?" said Hermione and Ron at the same time, with varied levels of confusion and betrayal.

Emma glanced to her left and discovered she had not, after all, found Harry. Instead a bewildered Gregory Goyle—another Slytherin—was blinking back at her. Emma released his shirt and growled in irritation. Then she whirled around and stalked back into the smoke. "Everybody stop!" she yelled.

There was a split second of peace. Then someone punched her in the ribs.

It all went confusing again—Emma hadn't been expecting the hit, and she lost her balance, slamming into one of the compartment benches with her side and yelping involuntarily as she did. In a moment she was sitting on the compartment floor, winded and more annoyed than she'd been in quite some time. "Wait, Emma?" Harry repeated, still startled.

"Did you just hit your own sister?" said Draco, more surprised than taunting.

Emma squinted into the smoke. She thought she could make out two shadows but she had no idea which one was which. She had no choice—she stuck out her feet and tried to trip them both. She was successful with one—he dropped to the floor with an "Oof!" He seemed to think of the solution on his own and turned to crawl toward the window, which meant he made it out into the hall.

That left Emma and whoever the second shadow was. She coughed and tried to wave more smoke away from her face. "Now would you _please_ get out of here?" she barked, as she used the compartment bench she'd slammed into to climb back to her feet.

Either Harry or Draco, whichever one it was, turned and smacked into the window. "I would if I could figure it out!" he yelped.

Emma was fairly certain at this point that it was Draco—his voice didn't sound like Harry's. "Go toward the window!" she told him.

It took a few seconds, but both Emma and Draco made it out. The two of them collapsed out of the compartment at the same time, joining the pile of people that was already shifting around on the floor there. Emma managed to entangle herself with the unfortunate Goyle, who seemed to be attempting to cop a feel while he was at it; Hermione had to help by wrenching everyone apart again.

The smoke was beginning to fill the hallway. As it was the air in the corridor was already faintly pinkish. "What absolute _imbecile_ —" Hermione shouted as she moved to slam the compartment door shut. The moment she did the smoke was cut off, and everyone on the floor looked up at her. She stood by the shut compartment door, glaring back.

Emma quickly glanced around. There were still students standing around the hallway, staring wide-eyed, and there were more students poking their heads curiously out of nearby compartments. A couple of Hufflepuff Prefects were hurrying down the hall from the left.

The scene to Emma's right was more interesting. This was because Goyle was seated beside her with donkey ears, Crabbe was still passed out on the floor beside him, Ron was slumped against the wall cupping his copiously bleeding nose, and—

 _Idiots!_ Emma didn't think twice about it before launching herself over Goyle and Crabbe's legs at Harry and Draco, who were already struggling with each other. "Stop it!" Emma yelled, as she forcibly shoved Harry away from Draco. Instantly Harry moved to go back in and keep trying to fight, but Emma punched him in the gut, partly repaying him for earlier. " _Back off!_ "

Emma waited a second for Harry to try and strike again, but he didn't—he just laid back against the floor, panting. As she watched him warily, something else slowly dawned on her—as she had hurtled across him in order to stop Harry, she was basically laying on top of Draco. She quickly braced her hands against the carpeted floor. "Uh," said Emma, offering Draco a sheepish grin, "sorry."

The two of them stared at each other for a second. Draco was even prettier close up, with lovely gray eyes and a very nice mouth. He had a freckle on his neck right where the collar of his button-up shirt would be if his uniform wasn't askew. "No problem," Draco told her, with a faint hint of a smirk.

Emma quickly moved to clamber back off of him, doing her utmost not to touch him in the process, and the Prefects arrived. Harry helped Emma to her feet, and as she brushed herself off, Draco, Ron, and Goyle climbed to their feet, too. "Did I really punch you?" Harry asked.

"Yup," said Emma bracingly. She rubbed her still-stinging ribcage. "Don't think you broke anything though."

"I am the worst big brother ever," said Harry gloomily.

Emma rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder. Harry grabbed that shoulder and glanced at Emma in a combination of surprise and betrayal. "Yes, you are," Emma told him. "What the hell were you doing, running around picking fights? What was it—three on two?" Because unless they had accidentally trapped Neville Longbottom in there, it had to have been Harry and Ron against Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco.

Harry gestured toward Draco, indignant. "He was insulting the Weasleys, and he kept taunting us about something we didn't know that would happen this year at school!"

Emma gave him an exasperated look. "You dope," she said, ruffling his hair. Harry swatted her hand away. "What makes you think he wasn't making the entire thing up?"

"He wasn't!" Harry insisted.

Before they could argue the point, one of the Prefects walked over to give them both stern talking-tos. As the Prefect told them off—Harry more seriously than Emma, because three witnesses had already claimed Harry had started the fight—Emma snuck a glance back over her shoulder to see where Draco had gone. He was standing a few yards away with Crabbe and Goyle, talking to them, and as Emma watched he clapped Crabbe on the shoulder. Then he turned and looked directly at her.

Panic rushed through Emma and she quickly glanced back at the Hufflepuff Prefect. "Lesson learned, yeah?" he said, eyebrows raised, as he looked from Harry to Emma and back again.

"Lesson learned," said Harry with a sigh.

"Yeah," Emma agreed, a second later. "Lesson learned."


	3. The Announcement

**A/N:** Hi, everyone! Thanks so much for reading, favoriting, following, and reviewing! :D Here's the next chapter—it's short, but Chapter Four will be quite long, and I plan to get it posted sometime next week! There will be some book dialogue starting here and weaved throughout the rest of the story, but hopefully not too much; what book dialogue there is will be a combination from Books Four, Five, and Six.

Anyway, I welcome constructive criticism, and I hope you enjoy! :)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

 _Chapter Three_

 _The Announcement_

* * *

The storm did not abate when the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station, which made it a very wet, windy journey up to the castle. Emma rubbed her mildly sore ribs as she squinted out into the inky darkness and rainy mist. From what she could tell the horseless carriages that typically brought students up to the castle were being drawn by bizarre skeletal horses today.

She considered bringing it up to Charlotte and Lucy, both of whom were in a carriage with her, but decided against it. The wind was howling enough that she would have had to shout. She could ask one of them later.

The castle interior was a welcome change—it was warm, dry, and well-lit. Once inside Charlotte, Lucy, and Emma all paused to fix their hair. "I swear," grumbled Charlotte after she utilized a drying spell, "the universe is actively trying to keep my hair from looking good today."

"Oh, it looks fine," said Lucy. She half-glanced around the entrance hall, crowded with drenched students, and nodded toward the massive double-doors that led into the Great Hall. "Let's go."

The three of them trooped out of the entrance hall and into the Great Hall. It was well-decorated for the start-of-term feast, the high, domed ceiling a starry navy sky and each table prepared with golden plates, goblets, and utensils. The Ravenclaw table was near the edge of the hall, between the Slytherin table, at the end, and the Hufflepuff table. The Gryffindor table was situated on the opposite end; and the professors sat at a fifth table that faced the students.

Emma looked over at the Slytherin table as she followed Lucy and Charlotte to their usual spots near the middle of the long Ravenclaw table. She could feel a heavy weight settling on her chest, the same one that had been there since the end of last year, when the Daphne Thing had happened.

There was no point in thinking about it now. Emma sat down beside Lucy, across from Charlotte. "I still can't believe Harry punched you in the ribs," said Lucy to Emma.

"Nobody could see," Emma said somewhat defensively. Then she rubbed her stomach and sighed. "But yeah, he punched me."

Charlotte shook her head. "I could believe it even if he could see," she remarked. Emma gave her a flat look—Harry was an idiot but he was her idiot, which meant she was the only one allowed to insult him. "Am I wrong?" said Charlotte, throwing her hands in the air.

"Oh, look!" said Lucy, smacking Emma's arm. "We don't have a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!"

"Why are you excited about this?" asked Charlotte. She reached out to pluck up her golden goblet, as if testing it, and then set it back down. "Whoever it is, they probably just haven't shown up yet."

Emma glanced over at the professors' table herself, considering. The Defense Against the Dark Arts position was notorious for losing teachers fast. Professor Quirrell had been around for several years, but after an unfortunate run-in with a hag, he'd decided to retire early and stay home. From what she'd heard he'd pretty much never gone outside again.

Then there had been Remus Lupin. He was Emma's godfather; she'd known him her whole life. He was by far the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor they'd had—good lessons, realistic expectations. And he'd been friendly and willing to help. Unfortunately he was also a werewolf, which complaining, racist parents had not taken kindly to discovering.

The most recent professor they'd had had been Professor Umbridge, and she'd been barking mad. From forcing students to injure themselves for her detentions to literally arguing with them, and then attempting to sack the other professors and claiming it was under the Minister of Magic's orders, she'd been an absolute nightmare. She'd gotten fired at the end of the year, after students had started telling their parents about her antics.

Emma frowned. All of the other professors did seem to be there, except for a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. "Maybe someone is just going to fill in?" she guessed. "Take over those classes?"

Lucy shrugged. "I hope it's Professor McGonagall."

"I don't know why," remarked Charlotte. "She's terrifying." She turned to glance up at the head table, too, and after a second she said, "I'm right, whoever it is just hasn't shown up yet. Look, there's an empty chair waiting for them."

Emma and Lucy both looked back at the table. "Maybe they've left it out in memory of crazy professors past," offered Emma sarcastically.

"I'm still mad that they didn't keep Lupin," said Lucy with an irritable huff. "He definitely taught us the most, and it wasn't like he was more dangerous than the forest full of magical creatures a hundred yards away."

That was a fair point. Before the conversation could continue, however, the double-doors swung open, and in streamed a line of tiny first years. Out of deference for the upcoming Sorting the rest of the Great Hall quickly fell silent.

The Sorting would take place at the front of the Great Hall, before the professors' table. There the eleven-year-olds would, one by one, sit on a stool and have a very old and talkative hat dropped onto their heads. The Sorting Hat was capable of reading minds, and it always knew exactly which House to place each student in.

This year the first years were awfully small, Emma thought, watching them shuffle through the tables, soaking wet. It was really too bad that it was so rainy—the first years, Emma knew from personal experience, had to cross the lake in boats to reach the castle.

When they had all lined up and were standing relatively still, the Sorting Hat began to sing, as was its custom before every Sorting. The moment it concluded its song the Great Hall burst into applause. Emma was always amused—and impressed—by the Sorting Hat's songs: they were long and clever and somehow managed to both rhyme and explain the four Houses quite well. To be fair she doubted the Hat had anything to do but compose songs while waiting an entire year for the next Sorting.

After each of the Houses gained a good twenty to thirty eleven-year-olds, the feast began. Charlotte kept glancing around the Great Hall as Emma and Lucy ate with gusto. "Who're you looking for?" Lucy asked when the first course was nearly over. "Because if it's Anthony, stop looking. He's not worth it."

"It's not Anthony," snapped Charlotte, but she did stop looking around. "I was trying to find Pansy," she added by way of explanation. "I wanted to see if she was with Tracey Davis."

Emma leaned over to check the Slytherin table. She found Pansy sitting several yards away near the head of the table, with, indeed, Tracey Davis. Millicent Bulstrode was near them, too, and so was Teddy Nott. And now that Emma knew the two of them had broken up, it didn't surprise her to find Draco Malfoy seated further away from Pansy and much closer to Emma and her friends, with Blaise Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle. Goyle, Emma noted, was holding an icepack to his head. Fortunately he'd lost the donkey ears, but it really wasn't much of an improvement.

Emma watched Draco tell some animated story for a few seconds—everyone within a three-seat radius had turned to listen to him—and glanced away again. "Yeah, she's with Tracey," Emma reported. She looked over at Charlotte, who seemed nonplussed. "Any chance you want to tell me what the hell she said to you this summer?"

Lucy glanced from Emma to Charlotte. "Wait, what?"

Charlotte shot Emma a nasty look, at which Emma raised her eyebrows challengingly. Charlotte huffed and focused on Lucy. "At one of Teddy Nott's parties this summer," she said bracingly, "we had the ultimate falling-out with Pansy. That's all."

"That's all?!" echoed Lucy. "That's huge!" She balled up her napkin to throw it across the table at Charlotte, who swatted it out of the way. "I've been waiting for this break-up for years!"

"Okay, stop yelling," said Emma quickly, because nearby Ravenclaws were now openly staring. She flashed a polite and somewhat sheepish smile at all of them and they turned away after another second.

Lucy sighed. She hadn't even noticed their audience. "I'm so glad," she said. She'd always hated Pansy Parkinson and had long told Emma and Charlotte that they needed to drop her. She and Pansy had had an immediate enmity upon meeting first year, for no real reason; their personalities just clashed. It was kind of the same way with Harry and Draco. "That's great news."

"We get it," said Charlotte. She looked either uncomfortable or annoyed, potentially both. "Can we move on, please?"

"Gladly!" exclaimed Lucy, who was still starry-eyed. "We'll forget she ever happened!"

At least Charlotte was able to change the subject to an article she'd read in the _Daily Prophet_. Emma didn't join in the conversation this time but instead resumed taking a look around the rest of the Great Hall, half-thinking about that party at Teddy's as she did. She really didn't know what had happened with Pansy and Charlotte—all she knew was that she'd been talking to Stephen Cornfoot in the kitchen when suddenly both Charlotte and Pansy had stormed up, clearly in the middle of an argument.

Before Emma had been able to join in or even ask what was going on, Charlotte had grabbed her arm and yanked her away. "Good riddance!" Pansy had shrieked.

"Stay away from both of us!" Charlotte had barked, and then the two of them were off, crossing back through the party in the direction of the front door. Charlotte had refused to answer questions about what had happened ever since.

It was probably better not to ask. Instead Emma found her brother, across the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione, Neville Longbottom nearby. Hermione was smacking Ron in the shoulder with a book, which was not unusual. Emma glanced vaguely around the Hufflepuff table, though she didn't know anyone too well from that House, and then up and down the Ravenclaw table.

Down near the end, by the oak double-doors, there sat Anthony Goldstein with Lisa Turpin. The two of them had the nerve to seem merry. At least Anthony's two best friends, Michael Corner and Terry Boot, looked uncomfortable with the couple. They seemed to be valiantly attempting to ignore them.

At long last, when dessert had ended and the Great Hall was beginning to grow louder again, Professor Dumbledore, the batty headmaster, stood from his chair. As he did the buzz of students' chatting tapered off—students rarely dared to talk over him. He was a very strange man and everything he said was utterly odd. It was kind of the best and kind of the worst simultaneously.

The ripping wind of the storm outside the the torrential rain was still audible as he began. "So!" Dumbledore declared, raising his voice as he continued. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must ask for your attention, while I give out a few start-of-term notices. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle this year has been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it.

"As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

There was an instant outbreak of enraged shouts and whispers across the Great Hall. Emma immediately turned to find Harry, who was the Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. As expected he was gesturing to his fellow teammates, all of whom looked wrong-footed and furious. "Bloody good riddance," said Charlotte.

"Aw," said Lucy. She propped her elbow up against the table and dropped her chin into her hand. "No more dressing up for game days." She pouted prettily.

Emma wasn't very concerned about it herself. She was terrified of heights and had always been awful at flying. She'd go out and watch games, to support her House or Harry, but that was about it. Besides—she was less interested in the fact that it would be suspended this year and more interested in why.

Fortunately Dumbledore continued. "This is due to an event that will be starting in October and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy—but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

But he was interrupted: because just then the double-doors into the Great Hall slammed open. Every single person turned to see who had entered so late and so loudly—it was an unrecognizable man, in the middle of lowering the hood of his raincoat and shaking out his long hair.

After a moment he began to walk in the direction of the head table, his gait choppy. "That's got to be him," hissed Charlotte. "The new professor."

Emma was sure she was right. The man was, however, almost frightening. He was unhealthily pale, his face looked as though it had been rearranged several times, and he had two very different eyes—one was dark and normal, but the other was big and filmy-blue. It had to be a magical glass eye of some kind because it whirred around in its socket constantly.

When the man who had to be the new professor reached Dumbledore, the two of them shook hands. After a moment of inaudible conversation the man turned and walked around the professors' table to take his seat in the empty professor's chair. "Yup," whispered Charlotte, who looked remarkably satisfied with herself.

"Uh," Lucy whispered, "yikes."

Emma had to bite her tongue to keep from snickering, because there was no better way to sum up such an entrance. Dumbledore, however, seemed quite unmoved. "May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" he said, gesturing widely toward the man in question. "Professor Moody."

There was an awkward smattering of applause for the grizzled man with the funny eye. It ended quickly, and after another beat of silence that lasted too long, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "As I was saying—we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

Emma had absolutely no clue what that was. She glanced around at her friends, both of whom looked as bewildered as she felt, and then around at the rest of the Great Hall. Draco hadn't been lying to Harry earlier—there really was something going on at Hogwarts this year. Emma snuck a glance toward Draco and found him smirking. It was a good look on him. "Some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who _do_ know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely," Dumbledore continued.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities—until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

Emma choked on her drink and Lucy patted her back. "Death tolls?" said Charlotte. She straightened up in her seat. "I wonder what sort of tasks they had to do."

"Deadly ones?" offered Emma, whose airway had cleared.

"Are we sure we want to know?" said Lucy skeptically.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament—none of which has been very successful," said Dumbledore. He hadn't even paused to let the death tolls comment sink in. Half the Great Hall was glancing around at each other in confusion. Of course the other half looked excited. "However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt."

Emma furrowed her eyebrows at him. She wasn't sure she liked how he kept saying 'attempts.' "We," Dumbledore continued cheerfully, "have worked hard over the summer to ensure that, this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

Instantly, it seemed, the death tolls were forgotten—all over the Great Hall there were excited exclamations and more whispers. "In it for the money," said Charlotte at once. Emma half-smiled at her and Charlotte gave her a serious nod back.

Dumbledore resumed speaking and the Great Hall quieted. "Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age—that is to say, seventeen years or older—will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration."

That seemed to anger quite a few students. Charlotte heaved a sigh: she wouldn't turn seventeen until next March. "This is a measure we feel is necessary," said Dumbledore, raising his voice slightly, "given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion. I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

With that said, Dumbledore reseated himself. An instant cacophony of clattering and clanging followed as students began to leave the Great Hall. "It sucks that we can't even apply while we're in sixth year," said Charlotte as she rose from her seat. She brushed her hair back from her face and glanced around. "I can bet you anything Michael's going to go for it. He might get it."

"Nah, Pansy probably will," Lucy disagreed. Michael Corner and Pansy both had autumn birthdays and would likely be seventeen by the time the other schools arrived and the champions were chosen.

"Hm," said Charlotte. She was glaring in Pansy's direction. "Like she needs a thousand Galleons."

Emma and Lucy knew better than to comment, and instead both of them followed the various students leaving the Great Hall. _Death tolls,_ Emma mused. She decided, as she, Lucy, and Charlotte reached the entrance hall, that she would ask her mother about previous tournaments. It might help to read up on them, too.


	4. Stay Gold, Potter Boy

**A/N:** So! It's long past the week I said I would update xD Sorry, y'all! Thanks so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! :)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

 _Chapter Four_

 _Stay Gold, Potter Boy_

* * *

The dormitories in the Ravenclaw Tower were separated by both sex and surname. Unfortunately this meant that while Lucy Fernandez and Charlotte Guidry had each other, Emma Potter was stuck with Lisa Turpin. She did her best not to look Lisa in the eye the entire time she set up her belongings and prepared for bed that evening and then followed the same pattern the next morning.

At least Charlotte and Lucy met Emma in the common room, and all three of them walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast together. As they went they discussed the classes they intended to take this year. "Aren't we going to be allowed a lot of free periods?" asked Lucy, as she sat down in her usual spot at the Ravenclaw table.

"Yeah, but we'll need them to study," replied Charlotte. She seemed well-rested this morning and was already in a better mood than the day before. "I know I will, anyway. Transfiguration is going to kick my arse."

"Oh, you'll be fine," said Lucy dismissively. "You're the smartest one here." Charlotte looked properly mollified.

Their schedules would be interesting to sort out this year. Last year they'd all taken OWLs, official exams that determined which classes they could, or should, take this year. Their next round of somewhat terrifying official exams would be their NEWTs in seventh year.

Professor Flitwick, who was the Head of Ravenclaw, hurried around the table, talking with various students about their schedules. Most of the Ravenclaws knew exactly what they wanted to take. It seemed to take longer for the other Heads of Houses to sort out their students—Professor Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff and the Herbology professor, appeared to be pausing to chat at length with each student.

Soon Professor Flitwick reached Emma, Lucy, and Charlotte. "Ah, yes, Miss Guidry," said Flitwick, focusing on Charlotte first. She smiled at him and straightened up. "You're clear to take anything you want. I suppose you have a plan in mind?"

"Yes, sir," chirped Charlotte. She'd gotten all Os—Outstanding—and one E—Exceeds Expectations—in her OWLs. After sorting out her schedule she thanked Professor Flitwick and headed off to prepare for Transfiguration, which she would have in the following period.

Lucy went next: she was cleared to continue with History of Magic, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Divination, and Muggle Studies. After she picked out her electives she left for a first period History of Magic class.

"And finally, Miss Potter," said Professor Flitwick, facing Emma once Lucy had gone. He beamed at her and she couldn't help but smile back. His cheer was always infectious. "You'll be able to continue with Charms, Herbology, Potions, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Astronomy. I'm afraid I can't recommend you for Transfiguration—"

Emma shook her head. "That's fine, Professor." She'd positively bombed that OWL. She'd been a bit distracted by other matters when she'd taken it. Besides, she'd never been interested in the subject. "I'm happy to continue with those."

"Ah, good," said Professor Flitwick. He glanced down at his clipboard of notes. "And I assume you know which electives you would like to take?"

"Yes sir," said Emma instantly. "Political Science, Wizarding Literature of the 19th Century, and French."

"You're going to have one packed schedule," observed Professor Flitwick. He frowned down at his clipboard and then looked back up at Emma. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to remove one of those core classes? I know you want to go into research. I doubt you'd need Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Emma shrugged. Her mother had always lauded that class, and she knew Lily would be disappointed if she dropped it. Anyway being able to defend herself against the dark arts might come in handy someday. "I could drop an elective."

"You might want to," agreed Professor Flitwick. "How about Political Science?"

He knew her well—there was no way she was going to drop the literature elective or French. Emma agreed with reluctance. "I must confess," said Professor Flitwick conversationally, "I do have a bit of an ulterior motive here. As a sixth year, and with your marks, you're qualified to become a tutor. Would you like to do so? You would, of course, set your own hours, and you would be paid by the student."

Emma grinned. She'd been looking forward to being able to tutor since fourth year. "I would love to," she said brightly.

"Perfect!" cried Professor Flitwick. "Wonderful! I'd love it, of course, if you could tutor Herbology or Potions, as those have been by far your best classes—you might qualify for French, though you didn't take an OWL for it—"

"I'll do Herbology or Potions," said Emma. "Thanks, Professor."

"No problem at all, Miss Potter," Flitwick replied. He tapped a blank schedule with his wand, filling it out, and handed it over to Emma. "Remember you have this week to drop any classes you want, but your schedule will be set in stone for all intents and purposes next week." He grinned at her. "Find me after Charms tomorrow and we can talk about tutoring."

Thus, with her schedule sorted out, Emma left the Great Hall. She fairly ran back to the Ravenclaw Tower in order to return to her dormitory and grab her bag, as well as her supplies for History of Magic and Ancient Runes—she'd be joining Lucy's first period History of Magic class. In minutes she was on her way.

Fortunately Lucy was still sitting alone at one of the two-seater tables when Emma reached Professor Binns' classroom. What was less fortunate was that she'd chosen a table in the front row. This was because Lucy, unlike everyone else Emma knew, loved History of Magic, and was somehow able to listen attentively to the ghost professor, who had a tendency to drone. "Hey!" said Emma as she arrived at Lucy's table. "Is this seat taken?"

"Only by you!" Lucy returned with a grin.

The two of them discussed their schedules as they waited for class to begin—they would have Potions together that afternoon, and Defense Against the Dark Arts together later that week, but their electives were wildly different.

History of Magic proceeded as usual. Professor Binns glided out from his office and moved to hover over his chair behind his desk at the front of the room, and he began to lecture. This year they would be going more into ancient and medieval history.

Speaking of which—immediately after History of Magic, Emma had Ancient Runes. She parted ways with Lucy just outside History of Magic and went on her way to Professor Babbling's classroom.

As it turned out Emma had Ancient Runes with Hermione Granger, but Emma wasn't interested in sitting with her. Instead she found Michael Corner, a fellow Ravenclaw and one of Anthony's two best friends. Emma had had a crush on Michael for ages: every girl in Hogwarts had developed a crush on him at one point or another, but he'd long been taken by Rebecca Grimes, a Hufflepuff. He was fun to hang out with, though. "Hi," Emma said as she reached his desk.

Michael glanced up and grinned lazily at her. He had slightly-too-long dark hair and bright blue eyes and he was tan, likely from wherever he'd gone over the summer holidays. "Hey!" he said. He gestured toward the empty chair beside him and leaned back. "Have a seat."

"Thanks," said Emma, pulling out the chair and seating herself. She set her tote bag down beside the desk and withdrew her designated Ancient Runes notebook, as well as her textbook. "So how old are you?" she asked as she did so.

"Oh, age is just a number, if you know what I mean," said Michael with a wink.

Emma snickered. "Come on. Can you apply for the Triwizard Tournament?"

Michael brightened. "I can and I most certainly will!" he declared. He tossed his hair back majestically. "Look at me—I deserve to own thousands of Galleons. And many gold trophies."

That made Emma laugh. "Yeah? According to who?"

"Everyone, obviously."

The two of them bantered for a few more minutes as the classroom continued to fill with students. Then Professor Babbling arrived and the lesson commenced—they started out by reviewing what they'd learned last year and had a short quiz. Hermione answered almost every question; she raised her hand for each one, but Professor Babbling chose a couple of Ravenclaws for two or three answers.

At the end of the period Professor Babbling provided them all with a dreadful amount of homework. There was one thing Emma could say for Professor Binns—he rarely gave them any schoolwork at all, only readings. Of course this meant he simply launched random questions from every unit at them on exams and they had little to no preparation whatsoever for them, but it was better than having to do more work.

Luckily Emma had a break following Ancient Runes and lunch after that. She spent break sitting around with Teddy Nott—he was an easygoing Slytherin who got along with everyone, and although he seemed to have chosen the classes that would have the most homework, he was not at all concerned.

During lunch she rejoined Charlotte and Lucy and glanced over her Ancient Runes homework, which was depressing. Then she and Charlotte left to go to Arithmancy together. "I think I'm going to drop all of my electives," said Charlotte as the pair of them walked to Professor Vector's classroom. "There's no way I'll be able to finish any of this homework on time."

"Well, you've got all week to drop," said Emma with a shrug.

Terry Boot, the third of Anthony and Michael's trio, was in Arithmancy with them. Emma saw him sitting near the front of the classroom with Stephen Cornfoot, and she waved when she caught his eye. He smiled politely and waved back as Emma and Charlotte chose a two-seater desk in the middle of the room.

Professor Vector assigned, of course, more homework, but was kind enough to let them start their work in class. When the bell rang for class to end, Charlotte and Emma were some of the first few out of the room. "This is miserable," Charlotte moped as they walked back down the hallway in the direction of the moving stairs. "I'm not even good at Arithmancy."

"What d'you need it for, anyway?" asked Emma. The two of them paused at the edge of the balcony off the landing to wait for a set of stairs to swing toward them—they moved constantly, which was ridiculously annoying and kind of terrifying if Emma thought about it too much.

Charlotte sighed. "Professor Flitwick recommended I take it. You know that program I want to get into, the one in Northern Ireland?" Emma nodded. "They require a NEWT in it."

"That's rough," said Emma, sympathetic.

"Don't I know it," remarked Charlotte. Just then the stairs arrived, and they, as well as a group of fourth-years that had gathered behind them, moved to hurry down them. "I've got a break," Charlotte said as they went. "I'll catch up with you at dinner, yeah?"

"See you then!" replied Emma.

Charlotte left for the Ravenclaw Tower, and Emma continued to go further and further downstairs, on her way to Potions. She passed various groups of students heading to their final classes of the day; and when Emma reached the main corridor of the dungeons, on the lowest floor of the castle, she was joined by Lucy and Terry Boot. "Oh, hey, Emma!" said Terry from somewhere behind her.

Emma turned back. "Hi!" she said, waving at both of them. "Weren't you just in my Arithmancy class?" Emma asked Terry.

"Yep," confirmed Terry. "That homework is going to be awful."

"Aren't you good at Arithmancy?" Lucy asked him. Terry shrugged modestly. "You're going to have to help both Emma and Charlotte," Lucy said. "They're terrible."

Emma let out a startled laugh. "She's not wrong," Emma told Terry. Then, as the three of them turned a corner onto another cold, drafty hallway of the dungeons, Emma said, "So, are you two happy we don't have Snape anymore?"

"Ecstatic," said Terry sincerely.

"I was rather fond of him by the end," said Lucy. "At least he was interesting."

That much was true. Emma was always torn on her opinion of Professor Snape—he and Harry always engaged in snark battles that were beyond immature and unprofessional. However Emma had no personal problem with the man. In fact, last year, when the OWL potions had gotten increasingly difficult, Emma and Daphne Greengrass would hang out in Snape's classroom on weekends, in order to practice making the potions they would be assigned.

For the most part Snape had remained in his office and ignored them, but sometimes he would wander out—usually to find a potion ingredient himself, or a book from one of his shelves—and offer random pieces of disdainful advice. The man certainly knew what he was talking about.

The NEWT-level Potions classes were taught by Professor Slughorn, who was just as dramatic as Professor Snape but far kinder from what Emma had heard. He was also the proud beginner of the Slug Club. It sounded gross, but only the most elite of students made it in, and Emma was already planning to try and make it—she'd heard that it was great for networking.

Other than Emma, Lucy, and Terry, there had been hardly anyone on the hallway. But when they turned another corner, Anthony Goldstein and Lisa Turpin appeared, already several yards ahead. Terry excused himself from Emma and Lucy to catch up with them. Emma and Lucy made silent gagging faces at each other and slowed down to put more distance between them and Charlotte's annoying ex.

Terry, Anthony, and Lisa disappeared into the classroom at the end of the corridor within a few moments. Lucy and Emma resumed walking at normal paces and shared a moment of silent commiseration. Then they turned to enter the classroom that the other three Ravenclaws had just vanished into.

Except both of them halted about a foot into the room—it was filled with a variety of colorful steams and mists and entering was like smashing into a wall of smells. Emma sneezed automatically. "Bless you," said Lucy, patting Emma's shoulder.

"Thanks," said Emma, as the two of them briefly surveyed the desk situation.

There was barely anyone in the class, it seemed. The tables were evenly spaced out—empty cauldrons were in front of each table, and the tables were arranged in squares, with four around their respective cauldrons. A long counter at the front of the room was where the steam was coming from: there were four smoking cauldrons set up on it.

Anthony, Terry, and Lisa had chosen a set of four tables to stand around and were unloading their supplies. Emma spotted Hermione Granger and her brother with Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley, two Hufflepuffs, at another set of four. Emma waved when she caught sight of them and Harry half-smiled and waved back.

There was no way Lucy and Emma were splitting up, and neither of them, Emma was sure, had any desire whatsoever to join Anthony and Lisa, no matter how nice Terry was. This really only left one option—because Lucy and Emma could have chosen to sit at an empty set of four tables, but it really would have been quite rude. Instead they were going to have to join Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. "I guess we're over there," said Lucy, gesturing vaguely toward the two Slytherins.

Both of them had to have heard her because at once both of them looked up.

A split second later clattering footsteps approached from the hall outside and a puffing Michael Corner burst into the room. He immediately stumbled in and threw his arms around Emma and Lucy's shoulders. "Support me," he gasped.

Now almost the whole room was watching, in a combination of amusement and disapproval. "No," said Emma and Lucy at the same time. They exchanged a momentary glance, and then, in unison, they stepped to the side, allowing Michael to flail unceremoniously to the stone floor.

"Ow," Michael groaned, as Lucy and Emma both laughed.

"Oh, get over yourself," Emma joked, even as she moved to help Michael up off the floor. Lucy just walked around them to select one of the two empty tables with the Slytherins. "What's a few broken bones and smashed internal organs to a wizard as talented as—"

"Yes?" said Michael eagerly.

"—Professor Slughorn?" Emma finished.

That made a couple of the onlookers laugh—one of them notably being Draco Malfoy. Emma saluted the room with her free hand. Michael pouted and fairly threw her other hand away from him. "Rude," he grumbled, brushing himself off. Emma shrugged at him, as if it couldn't be helped.

Emma headed over to claim the last table available between Lucy and Blaise. Lucy, Blaise, and Draco were all watching her with clear amusement—though when she glanced around at them, Draco quickly looked down at his textbook and Blaise's face became inscrutable. Emma set down her bag beside her table and when Lucy nudged her arm she followed Lucy's gaze to find Michael still goofing off.

He had apparently just dropped his bag at the other Ravenclaws' tables and was crossing to the front of the room, where the four steaming cauldrons were. "Ooh, what's this?" Michael said, voice carrying, as he peeked into each cauldron.

"He'll kill us all one day," observed Lucy.

"Probably," Emma agreed. She dug out her textbook and did her best not to look toward Draco, though she was already far too aware of his presence. "At least we'll die laughing."

"He won't," remarked Blaise in his low, even voice.

And he was probably right. Michael was still going slowly from cauldron to cauldron. "Mikey, come on," said Anthony, laughing to himself.

Michael held up his hand and paused over a cauldron. "I know these three," he said. Then he tilted his head slightly as he looked into the last one. "This looks like it's water."

"It's not," said Ernie Macmillan.

Unfortunately for Michael, Ernie said this a split second too late: because Michael poked whatever was in the cauldron with one finger and then proceeded to lick his finger. Half of the class groaned in disgust and the other half laughed in disbelief. "Merlin," said Lucy with some amusement.

"He's going to wake up tomorrow with funny little animals falling out of his mouth," said Draco, apparently making this aside to Blaise.

Emma snickered and Draco glanced back toward her, a faint smirk curling up the corner of his mouth. She felt a rush of butterflies and did her absolute best to ignore it—because she did not like Draco Malfoy. _Nope._

She focused on Michael, who was still at the front of the room. "That tasted terrible," Michael declared as he turned round. "I still don't know what it was. Hope I don't die."

"You're an idiot," said Terry affectionately, as Michael strolled back over to stand at his chosen table.

"No, I'm actually quite intelligent," Michael retorted. "In fact I won awards for my intelligence in primary school." He pointed at Lisa. "If anyone here isn't smart, it's her."

Lucy and Emma both let out startled laughs and Michael slapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide. "Veritaserum," said Hermione Granger, shaking her head in clear disdain. Most everyone else in the room was snickering. Except for Lisa, who looked affronted.

Before Michael could further embarrass himself and all of Ravenclaw, Professor Slughorn entered the room from the back, where the door to his office was. Emma was distracted from the professor's entrance by Lucy, who lightly slapped her arm. "You _like_ that guy?" she only half whispered.

Although it was just Blaise and Draco—and Emma was sure both of them had heard—this was a rather shameful admission. Emma shot Lucy a look; then she glanced over to make sure Professor Slughorn wasn't watching before she snatched up her textbook and smacked Lucy in the shoulder with it. Lucy yipped and Professor Slughorn looked over. Emma smiled innocently at him.

"Two Potters, eh?" Professor Slughorn observed with clear delight. Despite her and Lucy's brief disruption Emma was still surprised that he'd gotten past the famous Potter to realize she was also in the class. That normally didn't happen, even though Emma was tall enough to merit attention. "And which one of you is better at Potions?"

"Her, sir," said Harry, pointing.

Professor Slughorn, and the majority of the room, looked toward Emma, who flushed. "It depends on the day?" she offered.

That made Professor Slughorn laugh. Emma smiled somewhat nervously. "Well, let's hope today is a good one!" he said cheerfully. He strolled around the counter with the cauldrons at the front of the room and stood there behind it; now he was mostly a silhouette through the various steams rising from three of the cauldrons. "Now then, now then," he said, "scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of _Advanced Potion-Making_ …"

"Sir?" said Harry, raising his hand.

"Ah—yes, Mr. Potter?"

"I haven't got a book or scales or anything—I didn't realize I'd be able to do the NEWT, you see—"

Lucy scoffed in disbelief. Emma just sighed and rubbed her temple. Harry was a fool, she thought. Professor Slughorn had always taught the NEWT-level classes—and he only required an E for a student to continue to the NEWT level, whereas most other classes required an O.

Emma had carefully chosen which subjects to focus on last year, in order to score an OWL in them and progress to the NEWT level. Even though Harry also pretty much knew what he wanted to do—become an Auror—he hadn't put nearly as much planning into his studies.

Professor Slughorn was still talking to him. "…and I'm sure we can lend you some scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts…"

He walked over to a corner cupboard and rifled through it rather loudly for a moment. Emma adjusted her own scales, which she'd already set out on the table, and snuck a glance in Anthony's direction. The prat was chuckling at something Lisa had said.

Emma looked back over at Lucy. She'd followed Emma's gaze to see who she was looking at, and now she shook her head solemnly, studying Anthony herself. "We'll get him," she muttered.

Blaise delicately arched an eyebrow. "Who are you planning revenge on?" he asked in a low voice. His question made Draco, who had been watching Slughorn go out of his way to help Harry, return his attention to the tables.

"Anthony Goldstein," Lucy supplied.

"And why's that?" Draco asked, looking from Lucy to Emma.

He really was very pretty. His eyes were gorgeous—gray wasn't a common color. They were like the sea after a storm. Emma realized belatedly she was taking too long to answer and quickly said, "Uh—he's Charlotte Guidry's ex."

Blaise made a 'hm' sound in the back of his throat and everyone at the table glanced toward him again. "What happened?"

"He cheated on her with that—amazing human being Lisa," Lucy replied. She smirked mischievously at Emma. "Let's take turns destroying his potions."

Instantly Emma imagined making some excuse to cross the room and see Harry or Professor Slughorn, "accidentally" bumping into Anthony's arm along the way. "Perfect," said Emma with relish. She vividly remembered how many times Charlotte had come into the common room in tears last year after fighting with Anthony, and how glib Anthony had been in comparison every single time. "You're on."

"Girls are vicious," Blaise said to Draco.

Draco kind of laughed. "Don't I know it."

Emma wondered if he was referring to Pansy. Just then Professor Slughorn ambled back to the front of the room; he had evidently given a textbook and set of scales to Harry. "Now then," Professor Slughorn repeated, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. Come up, everyone, take a look."

The students all slid off their stools and shuffled together to the front of the room. Michael hid at the back with Terry and Draco somehow wound up directly in front of Emma. Their proximity prompted Emma to realize that he was an inch or two taller than her. That never happened—Emma was quite tall. It had been embarrassing back when she'd cared in third and fourth years.

 _Interesting_ , she thought, because Draco Malfoy was growing increasingly attractive. Emma caught a glimpse of Harry and Hermione a few people ahead and immediately thought of what Harry would say if he knew what she was thinking. _Yup,_ thought Emma. _He'd lose it._

"These potions are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your NEWTs," said Professor Slughorn, once the class had halted in front of the counter and faced him. Emma's arm brushed against Draco's and she folded her arms in an attempt to keep from touching him again. "You ought have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet." He pointed at the cauldron at the far end—the one Michael had idiotically taste-tested. "Anyone tell me what this one is?"

Both Ernie Macmillan and Hermione raised their hands. Professor Slughorn nodded at Hermione. "It's Veritaserum," said Hermione promptly. "A colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth."

Michael made a funny noise then and a few students glanced over toward him—he was covering his mouth with one hand. Emma tried not to laugh: she was sure he was doing his best to refrain from commentary. She glanced back toward Professor Slughorn. As she did, Draco said in a low voice, "He should've been in Gryffindor."

For a second Emma didn't realize he was talking to her. Then she saw that Ernie Macmillan was on his other side and there was no way he'd been making that comment to Ernie. "Probably," Emma agreed in an equally low voice.

"Very good, very good!" said Professor Slughorn, who hadn't noticed anything. He gestured to the next cauldron down the line. "Now, this one here is pretty well-known… Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too… Who can—?"

Hermione's hand was in the air before he even finished his sentence. Blaise had begun to lift his hand, but he didn't bother raising it the whole way, and instead just dropped it. "It's Polyjuice Potion, sir," Hermione said, not even waiting for Professor Slughorn to call on her.

Polyjuice Potion had indeed been featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately—there had been a few scares at the Ministry with ex-Death Eaters. They'd been followers of the Dark Lord that Harry had defeated at the age of one. Evidently a few Death Eaters were still trying to take over the Ministry, or at least start some kind of revolt. There weren't enough to frighten any of the Potters, but there had been plenty of articles in _The_ _Daily Prophet_ about what could go wrong.

"Excellent, excellent!" said Professor Slughorn. He moved on to the next one. "Now, this one here…yes, my dear?" he said, because Hermione had already raised her hand.

Sometimes Emma understood why Charlotte hated her.

"It's Amortentia!"

"It is indeed," said Professor Slughorn. "It seems almost foolish to ask, but I assume you know what it does?"

Lucy nudged Emma's side, and the two of them exchanged a brief moment of eye-rolling. "It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" said Hermione.

"Quite right!" said Professor Slughorn. "You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

Emma furrowed her eyebrows. Who the hell would recognize anything for that reason? She didn't even know what mother of pearl was, other than a sucky swear. "And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," said Hermione. She seemed quite enthusiastic about impressing her new professor and sped up as she kept talking. "And it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly-mown grass and new parchment, and—"

She suddenly stopped. Emma cast a curious look toward her and found her looking surprisingly embarrassed. Most of the other students moved a little more toward the cauldron and sniffed in unison, presumably to see what they could smell. Emma thought she might be able to smell rain and fresh earth, and that old book smell, and hydrangeas and sautéed onions, and something else she couldn't quite make out.

Emma wondered what everyone else in the room smelled. What had Hermione smelled that was so embarrassing? Maybe Harry's cologne, or Ron's? "May I ask your name, my dear?" said Professor Slughorn to Hermione.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Granger? Granger?" he repeated twice, either trying the name out or trying to remember something. "Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

That was awkward. "No, I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggleborn, you see."

Draco exchanged a haughty glance with Blaise, who was standing on Lucy's other side; it seemed the two of them had the same thought. Emma eyed Draco somewhat suspiciously. "Well, well," said Professor Slughorn, "take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger!"

That was unfortunate. "Amortentia doesn't really create _love_ , of course," continued Professor Slughorn. "It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room—oh yes," he said, looking from skeptical Draco to equally skeptical Blaise, "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love…"

"And now," announced Slughorn, "it is time for us to start work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in that one," said Ernie Macmillan, indicating the final cauldron.

"Oho, yes," said Professor Slughorn. "That. Well, _that_ one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis." Hermione gasped, and Emma rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. She immediately recognized the potion's name, too, but she wasn't being dramatic about it. "I take it that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"

"It's liquid luck!" Hermione exclaimed. "It makes you lucky!"

Professor Slughorn smiled at her. "Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis. Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed…at least until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" asked Terry. It was a fair question.

"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," said Professor Slughorn.

Emma couldn't help it—she leaned a little toward Draco. "Sounds like Gryffindor again." Draco glanced at her, startled, and smirked.

"Too much of a good thing, you know," said Slughorn, who hadn't noticed Emma's aside. "Highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally…"

"Why didn't I take that one?" Michael blurted.

Professor Slughorn heard that. He glanced toward Michael in bewilderment. "What was that, Mister…?"

"Michael Corner, sir," said Michael. Emma saw Terry grab Michael's arm. "I—" He visibly struggled with himself for a second. "Have you—ever taken it, sir?" he managed to ask. Emma was proud of him for overcoming the effects of the Veritaserum—it had to have been the miniscule dose that allowed him to fight it.

Professor Slughorn still looked confused, though mildly amused now as well. "Twice in my life," he said. "Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven." Emma was startled. How old _was_ he? "Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days."

He looked dramatically off into the distance. It took real effort for Emma not to laugh. "And that," said Professor Slughorn, glancing back around at the students, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."

"Damn," whispered Lucy.

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," said Slughorn. He whipped out the tiny bottle in question from a pocket of his robes and held it out to show everyone. Light reflected off the bottle and the liquid within almost glimmered. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt.

"Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions…sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. Or, of course, the Triwizard Tournament," said Slughorn with a knowing look. "So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only…and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!

"So," said Slughorn, turning brisk, "how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of _Advanced Potion-Making_. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

The students immediately rushed back to their chosen tables. There was no way Emma was going to let Anthony win, she thought as she started her potion. She doubted Lisa would get close enough to do so—Michael really had been telling the truth. She wasn't exactly the smartest Ravenclaw around.

Emma did tend to be better at Potions than her brother, because she studied the subject in her spare time and practiced over the summer holidays. She wished she'd done the Draught of Living Death before as she followed her book's instructions to the letter. But really—what would she do with a bottle of Felix Felicis? What would any of them do?

It didn't matter, she supposed; it was more the principle she cared about. She refocused on brewing her potion. At this point it was a rather disgusting shade of blue, which was a color she hadn't known could look disgusting.

As time drew on, bluish steam began to fill the room. Emma coughed a few times, and she wasn't the only one—all around the room, other students were clearing their throats, coughing, or sneezing. Emma frowned down at her potion. She was following the instructions perfectly, but her potion wasn't quite the shade her book was describing.

She leaned over to glance into Lucy's cauldron. Her potion was roughly the same color as Emma's. "What are we doing wrong?" Emma asked.

"No idea," grumbled Lucy. She, and Emma, glanced into Blaise and Draco's cauldrons, too. Blaise's was by far the lightest in color, though Draco's was getting there. Lucy's was the darkest. "This is clearly a bust," Lucy said, turning back to Emma. "Operation Screw Anthony Over starts now."

Emma smirked. "Sir yes sir." She saluted Lucy, marked the spot where she'd left off in her book, and moved her sopophorous bean over onto Lucy's table.

With the evidence disposed of Emma strode around their set of four tables and headed toward the other Ravenclaws. She briefly paused to peer into their cauldrons. "Looks nasty," Emma observed of Michael's truly unfortunate attempt, which resembled gummy blue concrete.

"You look nasty," Michael shot back. Then he grinned. "I'm just kidding. You look great. I like you better when you have lipstick on though."

Terry cackled. "Thanks, Michael," said Emma bracingly, patting his shoulder. If he ever broke up with Rebecca she knew how to win his heart, anyway. She noted that Anthony had the best-looking potion over here.

Right as Anthony moved peel glassberries over his cauldron, Emma walked around him, slamming into his shoulder—as a result he dropped an entire handful of glassberries, half of them unpeeled, directly into his potion.

"Emma!" Anthony barked. Most of the room glanced over in surprise. Anthony grabbed Emma's arm and yanked her in toward him, so he could seethe into her ear, "You're going to pay for that."

"I'm terrified," said Emma dryly. She ripped her arm out of his grip and glided around the table. "Good luck, Michael, Terry," Emma said, just before she walked out of their earshot.

She headed over to Harry's set of tables next, where Professor Slughorn was chatting with Ernie Macmillan. Emma halted beside Harry to crane her neck and look into his cauldron. "What the hell?" Emma demanded, when she saw that Harry's potion was perfect. "What are you even doing?"

Harry had been mumbling under his breath as he stirred his pale pink potion. "Following directions," he retorted.

Emma leaned over to take a look at his book, because she had no clue what kind of directions he was following. She was right: they weren't the book's—a previous owner had scribbled all over the margins. Harry had to have been following those. _Rude,_ thought Emma, thoroughly irritated. Now Harry was going to beat her at Potions, wasn't he?

 _Ugh_. He always won everything, like he didn't already have enough. "Professor Slughorn?" Emma said, hurrying around to stop him as he began to wander in the direction of the other Ravenclaws.

"Yes, Miss Potter?" said Slughorn in surprise. "Is there a problem?"

"For some reason I haven't got a sopophorous bean," Emma said apologetically.

"Oh, how strange!" said Professor Slughorn. "Come now, we'll find you one."

He led Emma over to one of the storage cabinets. After a few seconds he passed her a shriveled sopophorous bean and sent her off to work on her potion. As she passed Anthony he stuck out his foot to try and trip her; she very calmly stepped over it and didn't bother looking in his direction.

When Emma reached her table, Lucy laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. "Well done," she said with appreciation.

"You really ruined it for Goldstein," Blaise observed as he stirred his potion.

Emma glanced over at Anthony. There were silvery, almost transparent spirals of steam rising from his cauldron now. "Yup," said Emma. She flashed a grin at Lucy. "Pass me that sopophorous bean?"

Lucy gave Emma her bean back, and Emma began to cut it up and drip the juice into her cauldron. Then, when her potion barely lightened, she shrugged to herself and added the juice from her second bean, too. That helped significantly more. "What the heck?" said Lucy, leaning over to peer into Emma's cauldron.

"I think there's supposed to be more sopophorous juice," Emma replied. "Not that it helped much." The potion was at least pink now, but it was still a dark shade.

"I hate these book instructions," said Lucy. "They're no help at all." She huffed to herself and then glanced up, across the dungeon. "You know," she added, "I think you ruined his potion too much. There's nothing left for me to do."

"Ruin Lisa's," suggested Draco. Both Lucy and Emma glanced toward him, startled, and Draco shrugged. "It takes two to tango."

"We owe you," said Lucy, pointing at him. Then she winked at Emma and turned to wander over and casually destroy Lisa Turpin's hopes and dreams.

Emma snickered to herself as she resumed stirring her potion. Charlotte was going to get a kick out of this, she thought. "Emma," said Blaise, capturing her attention just as she finished stirring. She glanced toward him quizzically. "No offense, but why are you so…tolerable?" He gestured vaguely across the room. "You have that for a brother."

Emma couldn't help but laugh. That was the vaguest yet sincerest compliment she was sure she'd ever received. "First," she said, "only I can insult him. Second, I have no fame to get to my head. Third—" She paused. Then she shrugged. "I don't know. You caught me on a good day."

Draco laughed, and Emma half glanced at him, smiling a little to herself. "Fair enough," said Blaise. "But you're not going to stop me from insulting him."

Emma just shrugged.

A second later Professor Slughorn called, "And time's…up! Stop stirring, please!"

Lucy came flouncing back from the other Ravenclaws' tables. Emma glanced over—Lisa was staring wide-eyed into her cauldron. Anthony looked up and, glaring, made a rude hand gesture in Lucy and Emma's direction. Emma lifted her hand to wiggle her fingers at him in a sarcastic little wave in response.

Professor Slughorn began to make the rounds, checking each student's potion, pausing by their cauldrons and sniffing occasionally. He stirred Emma's a couple of times before making an indecipherable grunting noise and moving on.

The final winner was a total surprise—but not to Emma. She had long ago accepted the idea that Harry would win everything, whether he tried at it and wanted it or not. Perhaps the twins had been born under a lucky star, and Harry had soaked up all the luck—or maybe, Emma thought grudgingly, this was just immediate karma for messing with Anthony and Lisa. _Ugh, probably_.

No matter the reason, the moment Slughorn glanced into Harry's cauldron he burst, "The clear winner! Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good Lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are—one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"

Emma watched with increasing, unfamiliar fury curling in her stomach as Harry accepted the tiny bottle of golden liquid and pocketed it. Harry was everything their parents could have ever wanted: he looked exactly like James, played Quidditch as well as he reportedly had, had Lily's eyes, and now had inherited her talent for Potions.

On the other hand Emma couldn't even succeed at what she was most interested in. She clenched her jaw. She just knew Harry was going to write to their mother about this, and she'd be praising him for ages over the winter holidays. The thought was maddening.

The rest of the students were angry about the dark horse winner, too, and most of them glowered as they cleaned up their stations. "Aren't you better at Potions than him, though?" Blaise asked quietly, as the four of them were finishing up.

"Apparently not," said Emma. She yanked her bag onto her shoulder. "Insult him to your heart's content."

Lucy and Emma left the classroom together, leaving Blaise and Draco behind at their tables. "That was unfortunate," said Lucy as the two of them walked back down the drafty dungeon hallway. "How does your brother do it?"

Emma snorted. "Trust me, if I knew, I'd tell you." And she'd be doing it herself.


End file.
